The Furnace
by The Cajun Russian
Summary: Summary: Friendships are forged, but will they stand the testing? Ensign Chekov adjusts to bridge life, and gets to know his shipmates. But when disaster strikes, how will the bonds stand the strain? Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, Uhura, and the rest. Chap 6 her
1. Chapter 1

The Furnace

Summary: Friendships are forged, but will they stand the testing? Ensign Chekov adjusts to bridge life, and gets to know his shipmates. But when disaster strikes, how will the bonds stand the strain? Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, Uhura, and the gang.

This is my first attempt at an epic. sees people rolling their eyes and sticks out tongue I have been tinkering with this off and on for about two months, and I think it shows promise. I might be revising it a bit as I go on, though, so if you got any suggestions on it, I'm all ears.

Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to someone else. I own no Russian. :(

The plot is mine, though. All mine! NOBODY touch!

Ensign Pavel Andrievich Chekov was going to be late for his first official shift to the bridge.

After only two weeks on the _Enterprise_, he still was learning from trial and error his way around. He had been assigned to the bridge, due to Mr. Riley's 'permanent AWOL' on Ternara Six.

He turned a corner and ran, no, smashed, into another person. Their heads cracked, and both staggered back, holding their foreheads. Through swimming eyes, he made out a gold uniform.

"I'm so sorry, sair, but I'm late to the bridge!" Chekov said desperately. The other officer gave a wry smile.

"In that case, you must be the new navigator. I'm Lieutenant Sulu, the helmsman. Don't worry, we'll be only a little late. Follow me."

Grateful for directions that he didn't have to ask for, Chekov followed him down the hall, and into a turbo lift. Grabbing one of the handles, the lieutenant said, "Bridge," and they started to rise.

Chekov realized he was sweating and his left hand was twitching. Nervously, he straightened his shirt, then ran his fingers through his hair. He was secretly proud he had managed to remeber to tame the rebellious mop into a neat combing. He glanced at the lieutenant, who was mildly watching the door. The lift stopped. He took a shaky breath. The doors opened.

He felt all eyes turn on him as he entered the bridge, a step behind Lt Sulu. They were obviously interested in the new unknown quantity. The Captain turned, and said, "Ensign Chekov." Chekov snapped to attention without thinking, witch made the Captain laugh and say, "At ease. Take your consule." Face reddening, Chekov nearly ran for the navigation's booth. Sitting down, he now fully realized how in the front the helmsman and navigator were. This did nothing to help his nerves.

"Ensign, set a course for the Gamma Quadrant, . . . one-five-oh-six-mark four."

"One-five-oh-seex-Mark four. Course plotted, Keptin." The Captain nodded. "Mr. Sulu, warp three." He then turned to the Science officer. Chekov surveyed the room without turning his head. It was a talent of his he had learned early in life.

The Science Officer was Mr. Spock, one of the first Vulcans in a mostly human crew. At the communications booth, was Lt Uhura, a beautiful black lady that was well known for her skill with languages. He looked at his helm partner, who was gazing avidly at the viewport as he made the jump to warp. He was Asian, with a wiry build, and a tad taller than Chekov.

A bit later, two men came from the turbo lift. The man in the red shirt was Commander Scott, who Chekov knew from the time he had lost his way and ended up in engineering. He was a formidable Scotsman, who had a very frank personality. He said what was on his mind, with no word mincing. The other was CMO Dr. McCoy, another intimidating, ornery presence. Chekov busied himself by familiarizing himself with his consule. It was reassuring to see all the switches and buttons that he knew very well from the academy.

Nothing happened out of the ordinary for the rest of the alpha shift. When the watch change came around, people slowly filtered to the turbo lift. Chekov hung back, not wanting to get in the way of his superior officers. As the beta shift came on, only Chekov and Uhura were left to leave. They got in, and Uhura said, "Galley." As they went down, she turned to her silent traveling partner.

"So you're the new navigator? What's your name again?"

"Ensign Chekov." "Oh, you're Russian. I can tell by your name and accent." He nodded. "The best accent to have," he said proudly.

In the galley, Chekov went to the replicator and looked at the menu. He chose only a protein drink and a biscuit, because he was feeling rather queasy from nerves. He never did well being in close with people at first. He glanced around, looking for the most unoccupied table. Seeing one with no one at it, he made to it with his tray. As he passed by a table with mostly security red, he tripped and went flying. Looking over his shoulder, he saw a huge beefy man laughing at him, with his foot in the walkway. Shaking with rage and shame, Chekov got up to his knees and picked up his spilled lunch. Aware that all eyes were on him, he went to the disposal, threw away his food, and silently strode out of the galley.

"Did you see his face?" laughed security chief Lt Callahan. "The little sniveler didn't even fight back!"

"Leave the lad be."

"Oh? And who are you to tell me what to do, Mr. Scott?"

Scott stood up from his seat next to Uhura and Sulu. "I'm a senior officer who has a mind to learn ye a thing or two. Bully yer own men if ye must, but I see you pull that stunt again on anyone, I'll do me best to get ye in the worst trouble I can." Callahan glowered, and muttered something under his breath.

Sulu got up as the two men faced off, and went after the new navigator.

As soon as the door of the galley closed, Chekov went to his new quarters. He was not in berthing anymore; being on the bridge had its advantages. He only needed to share a bathroom. He threw himself on the bed and took deep breaths. The sight of the security chief's spiteful face made him want to punch something. A knock came from his door. He groaned. Why couldn't he be left alone?

He opened the door and was surprised to see Lt Sulu.

"I was on my way to a fitness room. Want to come?"

"I vould like thet."

"Great. I bet you want to pound something after Callahan tripped you. I know how you feel," he added quickly after he saw the ensign's face. "He did the same thing to me when I first came here. He gets a thrill out of pushing junior officers around. Just ignore him and he'll lose interest."

"Vhy doesn't anyvun do someting?"

"It's just a fact of life, I guess. He usually leaves off after awhile, though. Just stay out of his way for a bit."

Well, what do you want to do?" Chekov looked around. Handball, bowling, weights . . . hockey.

"Thet." "All right." Sulu was pleased to see the ensign's mind off Callahan.

Two rounds and an hour and a half later, the duo came off the rink, hot tired, and completely exhilarated.

"Where . . . did you . . . learn . . . to play like that?" asked an amazed and exhausted Sulu.

"I vas on the . . . national Russian hockey team . . . for two years. Ve vent to the. . . world finals my last year." panted Chekov. "Hockey vas. . . inwented by the Russians, you know. It's been avhile. . . since I played, sair."

"If I hear you call me 'sir' off duty again, I'll pull rank and have you on matinence duty. Do you understand, Ensign?"

"Yes, Mr. Sulu."

Sulu sighed and threw his hands up in mock despair. "Oh for crying out loud, call me Sulu off the bridge."

With a mischievous gleam in his eye, Chekov answered, "Yes sair, Sulu."

"You're something else, you know that? Anyway, want to go to a rec room and get a drink?"

"Alright."

The two made their way down the corridor to the rec room 2, which was unusually full. Sulu went right up to the synthesizer and ordered a saki. He plunked down at a nearby table and waited for his new friend. Ensign Chekov was an amusing person. Scotty came in with his own bottle of scotch and sat down next to Sulu.

"How's the navigator? My," he said, looking at the ensign coming towards them. "He's as skittish one, i'n't he?" On cue, Chekov quickly stepped out of the way of a towering man in science blue who was coming in between tables. The Russian looked for all the world like a nervous little kid in a cafeteria full of upperclassmen.

He made it to the table with a small glass of clear liquid. Taking a deep breath and looking around, he asked, "Is it alvays this full?"

"No, it isn't usually, laddie, but it seems a new term gets everyone perked up."

Chekov's face went unreadable as he saw the engineer. He spoke in a uncomfortable, stiff voice."Mr. Scott."

"Yes, it's me, and I remember ye from that little mishap four days ago. He got lost," He related to Sulu, "And ended up in engineering. I'm afraid I got a wee bit short wit' him. We got into a bit of a spat. I'm terrible sorry." he said to Chekov. Chekov managed a feeble smile. "Thet's alright, sair."

"In fact, I feel so bad," Scotty went on, now working on an inspiration, " I'm having a party to make it up to ye." Chekov's eyes got huge. The last thing he wanted was any attention brought to himself by an officer. In fact, he would be completely happy if he was treated like he was invisible. He said in a strangled voice, "No, thet's not necessary, sair, really-"

"Nonsense." Scotty said in a dismissing manner, and started talking to no one in particular, lost in his own thought. " It'll be a great way for all of us to get to know one another. I'll invite Uhura -and you, Sulu- and Dr McCoy, and the captain, if he's not to busy, and. . ."

At the mention of the captain, Sulu saw Chekov's face drain of the remaining color. It was amazing that his hair didn't go white also. The thought of James Kirk, the hero and legend, coming to a party for him held by a engineering genius and attended by Starfleet's finest was obviously the last thing he wanted by way of an apology. He tried again, almost whispering.

"No, please don't . . ."

Scott was oblivious to the obvious show of panic on the young Russian's face. "Now then, we'll need a rec room. . . hey Harb! Can I use Rec Room 4 tomorrow nigh'? Thanks. What time, what time, ah, got it! 1800 sounds right. Heck, we'll have a dinner party. . ." And on that note, Mr Scott got up and walked out, murmuring under his breath, leaving two speechless men in his wake.

Chekov slumped in his seat, looking with despair after the engineer. "Stop him," he said weakly to Sulu, who shrugged helplessly. "Sorry friend. But no one can dissuade that Scotsman when he's got his mind set on something."

Half an hour later, the two men parted ways and went to their respective rooms, which happened to be next to each other. Sulu mulled over the day's events. This Ensign Chekov was a decent guy. He had a sense of humor, even if it was somewhat buried, and Sulu could tell he was smart. He was also very shy and a bit rigid, but Sulu figured that would wear off as time went by. He went to sleep with the thought of Scotty's party and the hope it would not be too hard for Chekov. It was nice to have a friendly helmpartner.

Chekov closed his door and locked it. His head was abuzz with the whole day. Running into Sulu, the bridge, Kirk- he hoped he had not seemed as foolish in front of the captain as he had felt- Uhura trying to start a conversation, being tripped by the big security chief, Sulu asking if he wanted to go to a fitness room, playing hockey- he had missed it so much- going to rec room 2, feeling trapped and memories coming back -no, he was safe here- Mr. Scott deciding spur of the moment to have a party -was the man always that impulsive? How was he going to live through this party?- and the time sitting with Sulu, talking about nothing in particular, just enjoying each other's company. Washing up and getting in bed, Chekov reflected that today had been good, even with the downsides, because he had made his first friend in about, oh, five years.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Chekov found his way to the bridge early. With no one there, except a few crew members and the officer of the watch, he was able to relax a bit and get some work done comfortably. He ran a few tests through his consule, fine-tuned the control to his preferences, and read up on the next mission.

It seemed simple. There was a new mining colony on Serenoa II, which was having some problems. The actual conflict was not explained in any communications to StarFleet by their chairperson, but it had been surmised from different hints that it had to do with some sort of outside force. Intrigued, Chekov brought up the statistics for Serenoa II.

A class M planet, with a breathable atmosphere and livable surface, it revolved around two stars, it's pattern that of a figure eight. It had sparse vegetation, due to constant winds on the surface. Those plants that did survive were a kind of tough sage-like brush. There were some animals, mostly reptiles. High mineral and ore traces had promised a good outlook for the miners. Chekov did notice it was near the Neutral Zone. Perhaps that was where the problems had been coming from.

He was about to run a scan for planets and space vessels in the sector, but stopped as soon as he saw Kirk step out of the lift. Kirk walked to behind Chekov's chair and looked at his work. Chekov stiffened. He did not like people behind his back

The captain did not seem to notice, though, and commented, "Doing your homework, I see. Very good. And what's this about a party that Scotty's throwing for you tonight?"

Chekov went a deep red. "It vas his idea, not mine, sair," he mumbled.

"Well, I, for one, am looking forward to it. Lord knows we have few enough. Mr. Scott is known hold a good party, private or public. How long have you been up here? It's 1600."

Chekov whirled to the chronometer on the wall. Sure enough, the readout was 1601. "Time flies vhen you're having fun,"he said wryly.

He had two hours to prepare himself for Mr. Scott's party. Just the thought made his stomach clench in nervousness. He made a note on his computer to scan, then left the bridge.

In his room, he showered, put on a clean uniform, and went to find Sulu.

Sulu and he met in the hall, much like their first meeting, minus the head bashing.

"Hey. Where have you been today? I ended up spending today with Scotty, getting ready." Sulu gave a mock grimace. "He's so into this party, I had to almost beg him not to put up a welcome banner for you."

"Thank you," Chekov said fervently. "I am nervous as it is. I really don't vant everyone to notice me. And besides, I do not tink he vould haf spelled my name right."

"If you don't want a lot of attention, try to steer clear of Scott towards the end," Sulu advised sagely, but smiling in spite of himself. "He has a bit much from time to time and his tongue loosens."

1800 rolled about. It seemed half the ship was turned out in Rec Room 4. Engineers, security guards, yeomen, officers, doctors, and specialists all milled around, laughing, drinking, and commenting on the food, some of which were Scottish in origin and suspicious in edibility.

By the end of the party, Chekov was sweating and shaking. He had forgotten to eat all day, and he had hated the thought of squeezing into the buffet line. He had made do with a glass of vodka. His discomfort at being in tight proximity with people he did not know had been screaming for him to leave, but Mr. Scott had always managed to bring him back into the thick of it. Several people had tried to start conversations, but he had always discouraged it, remembering to be polite in doing so.

Kirk came over to the table where McCoy was sitting with a smile. "Fine party, eh Bones? Scotty really made this one big bash."

"Yeah, he did," Said McCoy, swirling his julep. "But the guest of honor seems to be having a rough time." He indicated to where the ensign was leaning on a wall, white as paper. "Looks to me like he needs a physical. Tomorrow, or if he passes out before then."

Sulu got up from talking to a crewman and went over Chekov. "Hey. How you holding up?" Chekov turned his head in Sulu's direction, and Sulu noted that his face had a thick sheen of sweat.

"Not wery vell. I tink... I'm going to go to bed." Sulu looked at the clock. 2000.

"Well, alright. Hey, are you okay?" Sulu looked concerned. Chekov had been fine before, but now he looked like hell.

"I am fine, just...Just tired." Chekov gave a weak smile and staggered to the door. After getting out of the rec room, he almost ran for his room.

Uhura noticed the hasty departure of the navigator, as did the others at her table. "Isn't he adorable?" sighed Yeoman Harris. "Those big brown eyes are just SO dreamy."

"He does have a cute face, doesn't he?" mused Yeoman Carey. Uhura rolled her eyes. All these two air heads could think about were men. She admitted that he was somewhat good-looking, but she was too levelheaded to gossip like her fellows.

"Excuse me, ladies, I'm going to talk to Sulu." Anything for intelligent conversation. At least he wouldn't sit and gibber about who was attractive and who was not. Going over to where Sulu was sitting, she noticed he looked worried. Sitting down next to him, she tapped his shoulder.

"Hey. You look a million light years away. What's the matter?" He gave a start.

"Hm, what? Oh, just Chekov didn't look to good when he left. And I'm really tired from spending the whole day helping Scotty with this." He suppressed a huge yawn. "I'll see you tomorrow. 'Night, Uhura."

"Good night, Sulu."

Chekov got into bed. He had turned the temperature down low, and gotten an extra blanket. He always hated sleeping in hot temperatures. Hunger did not help his headache, and only by willing himself to do so did he fall asleep. But even then, there was no relief.

"_Pasha, we're going to play the game again, alright? Go hide now, and don't come out! Go!" _

"_Yes Mama." Running upstairs. Closing the door to the hall closet. Door slamming. Yelling. Boots coming up the stairs. Mama pleading. The closet door being opened. A huge hand grabbing his arm. _

_Thrown into the hall. Kicked down the stairs. Landing in front of the door. Door locked. Huge hand slapping him. Again. And again. So much pain. Mama screaming. Blackness..._


	3. Chapter 3

Chekov bolted out of bed. Dizzy, he looked at his chronometer. 4:00 a.m. Cradling his head in his hands, he felt the pounding in his temples. Getting up, he took a shower, turning it up as hot as he could bear.

Feeling better, he got dressed, and went to the galley. He got hot black tea, bacon, hash browns, and rye toast. The hunger of yesterday came back to him with a vengeance, and he went and got a second plate. Satisfied, he went back to his room.

Turning on his computer, he looked again at the area of space surrounding Serenoa II. Not only was it near the Neutral Zone, he saw, but also a strange gas cloud. The gas cloud was huge, able to contain a whole star system, but had never been explored as long range sensors had been unable to function inside the cloud. There had been disappearances, also, along the rim of the cloud over the years. Checking the time, Chekov decided to be early for his shift.

Getting out of the turbo lift, he relieved the navigator and sat down. To his irritation, he realized that all the adjustments he had made earlier were now totally gone. From the little things, like the pressure of the controls, to the larger things, like the shortcut he had routed into the system. Squaring his jaw, he became engrossed in reinstalling it all again, and making them permanent.

So involved did he get, he was not aware when Sulu sat down next to him. In fact, he did not even notice when the captain had entered the bridge.

"Mr. Chekov, you will report to Doctor McCoy when your shift is over." Chekov started.

"Pardon, sair?" What had he done now?

"Your physical, Mr. Chekov." Damn. He hated hospitals, ever since his mother had taken him to one for a shattered arm when he was six. He had spent the whole time alone, confused, and frightened. And after that, every time he went to a hospital, it was for a severe injury that his mother or uncles could not treat. Understandably he now avoided hospitals and labs like the plague, but this time there was no way out.

"Aye, sair." At least he had time to mentally get ready.

It was with great trepidation that he made his way down the hall to sickbay. Bracing himself, he stepped into the waiting room. He sat down and waited for the inevitable.

McCoy stepped from his office into the waiting area, and found the person he was looking for. But instead of getting up, the ensign seemed to be staring intently at the wall, his whole body tense, unaware that he had entered.

Raising an eyebrow at this, McCoy said, "Come on, then." Leading to the examining room, McCoy asked, "Ensign Pavel Chekov, correct?"

"Yes sair." very tense, he decided.

"Well, take off your shirt and have a seat on the table." After hesitating, Chekov complied, already feeling the strain of controlling his anxiety.

"Lay down and try to relax." Chekov slowly laid back, his eyes shut tight. How does someone who's heart's jumping out of his chest relax? He felt his throat and chest tightening painfully, choking him.

McCoy took his medical tricorder and held it above Chekov's body. His eyes widened, and he felt Chekov's pulse. It was faster than it had any right to be, and breathing was nonexistent. Quickly grabbing a light sedative, he quickly spayed it into Chekov's bloodstream. He watched in relief as the heart rate slowed, and his breathing evened out.

Chekov blinked. He felt much better, but inside he was ashamed that the doctor had had to administer medicine for his stress.

"Let's start out with weight and measurement," suggested McCoy, troubled by what had just happened. Standing on the scale, the reading came as 150 pounds. The height reading was 5 foot, 5 inches.

Next McCoy checked his eyes, ears, throat, endurance, and reflexes all without incident. After taking notes, he took a blood sample to do a blood work. When that was finished, McCoy decided to try the scan again.

"Is it alright if I take a few scans?" Chekov nodded. This time, to McCoy's great relief, it passed with out incident. Heart rate, breathing rate, metabolism, bone structure, brain waves ... his instruments gave a beep which meant some abnormal reading. Looking closely, he pinpointed the source. Underneath Chekov's thick brown hair, there was a vicious scar. Examining it carefully, McCoy found it was made by impact by a blunt object. He pushed speculations from his mind. Time for that later. Turning off his medical tricorder, he told Chekov to put his shirt back on.

"Now, I'd like to ask some questions." Getting no answer, he continued.

"I was looking over your file. You're nineteen, correct?" A nod. "You seemed to have lots of injuries in your early years. Any particular reason?"

Chekov gave a weak smile. "I vas wery clumsy." _And not fast enough to dodge._

"Uh huh. Any problems lately? You looked rather ill last night."

"I am uncomfortable around lots of people."

"Have you always been?" When Chekov hesitated, McCoy decided to lay down the line. "I want to make a few things clear. Anything you confide to me is private, as long as it does not jeopardize the ship. I am not just here to fix up wounds and fractures, I'm here to make sure everyone onboard is fit. Not just physically, but mentally and to some point, emotionally. And above all, I'm here to help you. Now, have you always been uncomfortable around crowds?"

"Nyet."

_At least he's talking_, thought McCoy. Out loud, he continued. "Do you know when it started?"

"Vhen I was nine."

"For any particular reason?"

"I... hed a bad experience."

"Was that where you got the head wound?" Chekov looked at his hands and mumbled something.

"I can see you've had good medical treatment. None of your injuries have left marks, except for that one. Why?"

"I did not vant to trouble my mother."

McCoy sighed. "I want you here for a psychological evaluation soon. I'll notify you. Anything else?"

"Ny- No."

"Alright then, I'm finished. But I want you to remember," he added, "That I am here anytime if you need help. Or just someone to talk to."

Chekov nodded and left. McCoy hit the intercom. "Jim, can I see you in my office?"

"Yes. What is it, Bones?"

"It's about your new navigator."

"On my way."

Kirk stepped into McCoy's office three minutes later, and took a seat. McCoy decided to cut to the chase.

"I'm going to be frank, Jim, and I don't want what we're discussing to leave here. I'm concerned about Chekov."

Kirk started. "Why? Is he unfit?"

"No, he's perfectly fit. Physically, that is. According to his records, he was hospitalized at various times in his childhood. He's had a shattered humerus, internal bleeding and head trauma on various occasions, and more bruises and lacerations than I can count. He passed them off as his clumsiness. If he had not had treatment for these, he would be a cripple." He left out Chekov's panic attack earlier.

"Is he mentally sound?"

"I'm going to do a psychological evaluation tomorrow, and then we'll see. But from I've gathered, he's a hardy young man that has great potential. He just needs a little time to adjust."

Chekov climbed out of the swimming pool in the gym, dripping wet and tired. He had swam at least 600 yards, but was feeling better than he had all day. He saw Sulu over by the weights, and caught his eye. Giving a wave, Sulu came over.

"You wanna go to get a drink or something?"

"Sure." After getting his uniform on, they walked down the hall to rec room 3.

"So, how did your physical go?" asked Sulu.

"Doctair McCoy is a wery good physician," Chekov said neutrally. "I haf never had a painless medical wisit before." He mentally kicked himself. _Idiot, for letting that slip._

Sulu's ears perked at that, but decided to leave sleeping dogs lie. Instead, they talked about nothing in particular: work, favorite pastimes. Everything was going fine until Sulu mentioned his brother's wedding.

"Obechi's getting married soon. He's my older brother. What's your family like, Chekov?"

"Vell, my mother's dead. I hed no siblings."

"I'm so sorry to hear that. What about your father?"

What was he supposed to say? In prison? He gave a vague answer. "I do not talk to him anymore." He busied himself with his drink.

A huge meaty hand grabbed Chekov's shoulder and roughly spun him around. He was staring into the grinning red face of Lt Callahan.

"There you are. Been hiding?" He looked at Sulu, who had one hand on the table, ready to jump up. "I see you made a friend. What'd you have to do for it?" He leered.

Chekov's face went pale with rage. He had been pushed around, bullied, and beaten since he could remember. But now he was big enough to fight back capably. "Get away from me, sobaka," he spat, throwing Callahan's hand off his shoulder.

"You little Russian bastard!" growled Callahan, and yanked Chekov out of his chair and threw him. He fell into another table, upsetting it. By now people were aware of a fight. Some crowded around, while others left. Chekov whirled around and dodged Callahan's fist.

It became clear that the fight was in Chekov's favor. His small size was compensated with his speed and wiry strength. Callahan, while stronger and bigger, was slow and did not land many blows. Chekov grimly took the hits, but dodged most and landed many of his own. Sweeping his legs out from under him, Callahan grabbed Chekov by the throat.

Chekov's eyes widened in terror as memories rushed back.

_slammed into a wall, scrambling away, lifted up by his neck- O God-_

Fear gave him strength. He broke the hold around his neck, and mindlessly attacked Callahan. He punched, again and again, until he was aware that security had come and pulled him away. Still he struggled to get at Callahan. Then he saw a figure at the door. Kirk.

The fight left him in an instant and he sagged between the two men. They went to carry him out, but as they passed Kirk, he stopped them.

"Gentlemen, what just happened?" His voice was calm, but his eyes were sparking with anger. Callahan was quick to supply his version of events.

"That...boy," he spat, "Insulted, then assaulted a superior officer! Which is against regulations!"

"Yes, I know it's against regulations, but was there a reason?"

"I merely asked him if he had made a friend."

"Mr Chekov, do you have anything to say?"

Chekov was at a loss of what to say. That Callahan had insinuated that he had... acquired Sulu's friendship? Unthinkable. That Callahan was a bully and was threatening him? Just as absurd. For one thing, he had no proof, other than his word.

"No, sair."

Scotty came out from the crowd. "Sir, the lad wasnae in the wrong! He was mindin' his own business, and Callahan came up and put his hand on his shoulder and said somethin' that I dinnae hear. Then he said somethin' and threw his hand off, then next thing, Callahan threw him intae me table!" Sulu nodded his agreement, as did other witnesses.

"So, Callahan, you started it. Go to your quarters."

"But sir-"

"Now!"

Callahan left in a storm. Kirk turned the the security personnel holding Chekov. "Let him go. Are you alright, Mr. Chekov?"

"Yes sair. It vould take more than him to harm me. I'm Russian."

Kirk smiled a little. "I should have known. However, I'd like to advice you to not brawl onboard again, Russian or no." Then he left.

After assuring Sulu he was alright, Chekov bid him good night, and went to his room. Flopping on his bed, he stared at the ceiling. Well, he had come off rather unhurt in that fight. But the memories! God, he was trembling. They haunted him like shadows, surfacing from innocent words or actions around him. Would he ever be rid of them? At the academy, he had been to busy and too tired to notice them. But now that he was here, they clawed at him ceaselessly.

Wiping the sweat from his face, he got out of his uniform and got into bed. As he drifted off, he thought of Sulu and Scott, two men who were willing to put themselves in harm's way for him, their friend.

His sleep was without dreams.

The Almighty Panamint: Hope you haven't hurt yourself with all those backflips I'm glad you're enjoying it! Love your stories!

Smiley: Thank you. "Beam me up, Scotty!" (The most famous line never spoken ;)

lettuchi: Glad you like. Where are your stories? I'm intrigued.

Next up: Why Chekov was chosen for Enterprise! Uncles Yuri and Yoni! And finally, Action!

I can count on you guys to review, right? Riiiiiiiiight? (push blue button below to keep writer happy)


	4. Chapter 4

The Furnace

Summary: Friendships are forged, but will they stand the testing? Ensign Chekov adjusts to bridge life, and gets to know his shipmates. But when disaster strikes, how will the bonds stand the strain? Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, Uhura, and the gang.

Thanks SO much for the reviews! I love you all! wipes tears from eyes

The Almighty Panamint: Thank you, Oh most loyal of reviewers! Please, continue to read!

Kame-sama: The whole traumatic child hood explains a lot, don't it? If, no, WHEN I finish this story I think I'll write a few short stories, but that won't be for a LONG time yet! Glad you like the Sulu-Chekov friendship.

Aly L: Thank you for the review! To tell the truth, I've only seen about three episodes with Chekov, including 'Catspaw'. EGAD! The hair:P Still, he's really impudent, even then...

Stormyrose: OH PLEASE PLEASE GIVE ME THE CHEKOV PLUSHIE! PLEEEEASE!

Anyway, on with the story...

"Captain, if I may ask, is there a certain reason that this Ensign Chekov was assigned to the ship?" asked Spock, as he, Kirk and McCoy sat in the empty briefing room. Kirk made it a policy to meet with his two friends at least one evening a week to share their concerns, suggestions, and observations with each other. After Kirk had shared the story of Callahan and Chekov, McCoy had snorted, but Spock had looked thoughtful, even pensive.

Kirk leaned back in his chair and paused before he answered. "On my last cadet review, I was looking over files. As you know, each captain is allowed to hand-pick a small number of cadets, and then the rest are divvied up. Chekov stood out with his natural ability for navigations; he had almost beat the Kobayashi Maru."

"He went in, suspicious and ready, and was close to the Svesta, when the Romulans appeared. He began giving orders, but he began speaking in Russian and Standard. With no one understanding him, he took the place at the helm himself and managed to destroy two of the birds-of-prey, but the last one destroyed the ship."

"But it wasn't just his navigational ability that stood out. Reading his Academy record, there was something about him, an unorthodox, grab-the-bull-by-the-horns attitude that put him apart from his classmates. I guess that was what I was looking for."

"Like yourself," interrupted McCoy, a teasing glint in his eye. "Two stubborn, purpose-driven, radical men on the same ship. We'll never last."

"Shut up, Bones."

"I just hope, Jim, that your protégée will learn to control himself."

Kirk gave a smile. "Mr. Spock, since control of emotions is YOUR strong point, I leave that area of training to you." Spock merely raised his eyebrows. McCoy knew if it had been him, he'd have launched into a passionate tirade. He guessed that's why Chekov was going to Spock, not him.

The next day on the Alpha shift, Chekov was the last one there. Giving a small cheeky smile, he nearly ran past Kirk to his consule. He noted with grim satisfaction that his adjustments were still in place.

"So nice of you to join us this morning, Mr. Chekov. I hope you will get your chronometer fixed," Kirk commented loudly, making the young man's face go red.

"Clocks vere a Russian inwention," he muttered quietly. Nobody picked it up except Sulu, who suddenly succumbed to a violent coughing fit. Chekov thumped him on the back til it subsided. When he recovered, he was blinking tears from his eyes. Kirk gave him a concerned look.

Chekov quickly brought the focus from his helmpartner to the business at hand. "Keptin, we are approaching Senora II."

"Bring her out of warp, Mr Sulu." the screen shifted to show a grey rock. Well, that's what it looked like, anyway. Small and unimpressive, Senora II seemed almost unworthy of a visit from the renowned _Enterprise_.

"Uhura, hail the city's communication base. Use standard frequency." Uhura bent to her consule. "Mr Chekov, plot an orbiting course. Sulu, bring her in." The bridge crew worked seamlessly, Chekov noted as his fingers nimbly played over his chart. They seemed to anticipate their captain's orders, and Kirk knew it. He finished quickly, it had been very simple, but he felt rather disconnected from the rest of the bridge. He was not yet one of them.

"Message coming in, sir! It's from the city's head councilman."

"Put it onscreen."

The large window in front changed from it's stellar view to show the head of a man. Chekov stared in fascination at the rough figure before him. His thick clothing was dark, and his whole person was covered in a thin layer of dirt. His weather-beaten face was weathered and tough, and his eyes were sharp and old, like he had seen all the hardships life had to offer.

"Captain, can you hear me?"His voice was deep and commanding, demanding the attention of all listening.

"Yes, we can hear you. Go ahead."

"I am Jorrel, the head of the Council of Miners. I would be honored if you would come to a conference with my council, this evening at 1800. There, we will be able to explain our reason for asking your assistance, as it is of highest secrecy."

"I would be honored." Kirk's face did not show any surprise at this unusual request.

"You may find that bringing a good helmsman and sailing master would be beneficial," continued Jorrel. "We have made hybrid vehicles that are very difficult to use. Jorrel out." As the contact broke, Kirk was in action. Leaving his chair, he issued orders.

"Chekov, Sulu, Mr Spock come with me. Uhura, contact Security and tell them I want three of their best and have them meet me in the Briefing Room."

Quickly, Sulu, Spock and Chekov followed their captain to the lift. Kirk noticed that Chekov tensed when he had shifted nearer to him. Finally the turbolift opened and they entered the briefing room.

Waiting for them was the ubiquitous McCoy and three security personnel; an older woman, a lean man, and Callahan. Everyone took their seats, except Kirk, who pushed a button and a hologram sprung to life.

"Quickly going over Serenoa's properties. The air has thinner oxygen content than we are accustomed to, therefore your usual physical limits will be lowered. The thin atmosphere results in extreme heat in the day and freezing temperatures at night. Very sparse vegetation and indigenous life forms, and high winds. Unusual orbit."

"We have been invited to meet with the mining council. I trust you all will be alert and ready for anything. You have two hours to prepare. Meet at Transporter Two at 1740. Dissmissed."

As they filed out of the room, Callahan sent Chekov a look conveying that the night before was anything but forgotten. The hate that radiated from him was almost tangible. His impertinence surfacing, Chekov gave a scornful look back and went to his room before Callahan had a chance to react.

Entering his room, he turned on his computer, which announced in it's irritating voice, "One message received. Visual only." His face broke into a huge smile. That could mean only one thing. His uncles had written. "Transmit," he said, sitting down in front of the screen. An image of a letter, written in Cyrillic, appeared. It read, in Russian,

_Dearest Pasha,_

_How is ship life? Half the town wishes to know. We hope you are doing well. _

_Yesterday we had a huge storm. The snowdrift was up to the roof. Kochka kept us up the whole night, barking. She does it every year at first snow. Russians were the first to breed dogs, and our Kochka is the best of them all. She misses her Pasha._

_That old bat, Natasha, got the nerve to go and tell us that we were responsible for the demise of her cow. It's a wonder the beast didn't die five years ago. But she maintains that Kochka is the guilty party. How, no one has a clue. The thing died of old age._

_We are planning the first wolf-hunt of the winter. Pioter, Boris, Gregori, and their boys have already said they will come, as the Russian man is the best hunter. Kochka is excited, as are the other dogs in the town. They know when the snow falls, there is a chase._

_We are proud of our explorer. Someday you will be as great as Yuri Gagarin. We think of you daily and send our love._

_Good luck, Pasha, and always remember: You are a Russian. _

_Your Uncles, _

_Yuri and Yoni_

Chekov smiled. He remembered Kochka, his uncles' borzoi. He had named her "cat", when he was twelve, and the animal now answered to nothing else. He missed her, too. She had slept with him every night after his mother's death, when he had gone to live with his uncles. At six years old, she was the best dog in Russia, as far as he was concerned.

There was a knock at his door, and it turned out to be Sulu. Chekov waved him in, smiling.

"You ready for your first mission?" Sulu asked, sitting on the bed.

"It is not my first mission," Chekov stated, still looking over his letter. "I acted as Science Officer once, and I vent on two avay teams."

"Wow. Still, even after a year, I get a bit nervous beaming down. Not like McCoy, though. He hates beaming anywhere, and he always complains. Say, what you looking at?"

Chekov jumped, then smiled. "A letter from my uncles." He then read it to Sulu. While this would not have been a big deal coming from anyone else, they both knew this was an act of friendship. When Chekov finished, Sulu smiled.

"It's not hard to see where you got your nationalistic pride." Chekov reflexively gave him a light punch in the arm. Sulu made a show of cradling the injured limb and gave a melodramatic scowl at Chekov, who smiled innocently back.

Checking his chronometer, Sulu dropped all attempts at drama and gave a start. "Come on, we got twenty minutes to get to the transporter!"

Both young men were slightly out of breath when they got the pad. Kirk gave them one of his disproving looks.

"Now that we're all here, would you be so kind as to issue out the equipment, Callahan?"

"Yes sir." He passed out a phaser to each member of the landing party. He gave Sulu and the older woman tricorders in addition. As he gave Chekov his, he growled,

"Watch your back, Commie trash."

Chekov would have belted the man upside the head, but the eye of his captain restrained him. He managed to ignore the grevious insult, and silently vow that he would pay the man back. His thoughts were broken by the sharp command, "Mr Kyle, six to beam down."

They all took their places.

"Energize."

And the world shimmered out of focus.

Well? What do you think? (Answer by pushing the blue button... now! Okay, now! Okay...)


	5. Chapter 5

The Furnace

Summary: Friendships are forged, but will they stand the testing? Ensign Chekov adjusts to bridge life, and gets to know his shipmates. But when disaster strikes, how will the bonds stand the strain? Chekov, Sulu, Scotty, Uhura, and the gang.

Disclaimer- I own no one, except the security guards. If the person who owns Chekov would like to sell him, I have some Halloween candy...

Again- you people are wonderful! Thank you, Danke, Gracias, Merci...the list goes on.

The Almighty Panamint: I know the feeling. Callahan is a jerk :) Sorry you had to wait for the update. Thank you again for reviewing!

Kame-sama: Nice little tie-in piece, that. Actually, my DAD, of all people, inspired that. Thank you for the review!

Aly L: Sorry, again, for the delay. Glad you're enjoying the friendship development.

Stormyrose: Thank you so much for the plushie and cookies:)

Sonar: Thanks for the review!

I'm sorry for the delay, but school started full force and I have quarter tests and essays. It didn't help matters that I was trying to figure out my plot. Silly me, writing how many chapters without deciding on how the story will end. Inspiration is a great thing.

I'll be leaving on Thanksgiving vacation soon, and probably will not be posting til December. But be rest assured that I'll continue! Please bear with me!

Swiftly taking account of his crew, Kirk turned his attention to the room in which they materialized in.

The transporter pad was unlike any he had ever seen. The only familiar thing about it was the glowing circles arranged in a circular formation. The room was dark, the only source of light coming from small glowing orbs which cast a muted light. From what little he could see, the room looked like a cave. Were they underground?

"Welcome." A man stepped out of the shadows.

"I am Rankest, Jorrel's aide. Please come with me." He touched a glowing pad on the wall, which slid back to reveal light streaming through a transparent dome, housing a large craft. It was a dome, with a flat bottom, standing on four supports. Her hull was a patchwork of many metal sheets, in different stages of aging. On the side, hand painted in red paint, was the name Rachel Marie. There was a collective sound of disbelief. She didn't look worthy to stay together, much less fly.

In the light, Kirk saw that their escort was a slender young man, with blue eyes and golden hair, and the start of a beard. He was dressed like Jorrel.

"Which of you is the helmsman and the sailing master?" Sulu and Chekov stepped forward. You two will come with me. If the rest would get into the passenger compartment and put on the restraining belts, we will leave shortly."

Kirk, feeling a bit abashed at the curt manner of their guest and, unused to receiving orders, decided to get a few answers. He faced Rankest with folded arms, in an assertive manner.

"We're not going to leave til we have some facts straight. First off, where is Jorrel?"

The youth, who seemed immune to Kirk's slightly aggressive stance, looked genuinely confused. Then, as a cloud passes from in front of the sun, his face brightened. "Oh! He's in the city. Where else would he be? He sent me here to pick you up, since he's busy. You'll see him soon! That is," he added, eyes sparkling with good humor, "If your crew can get us there."

Chekov looked around at the control panel for the hovercraft. It was a jumble of every kind of machinery he had ever seen, plus a few extra. He gave Sulu a look of mild confusion, and it was returned. Jorrel climbed into the hatch behind them and cranked it shut. Turning to his companions, he gave a grin.

"Our technology is a bit of everything, since we like to reuse and recycle. We even have some machine parts from the 22nd century. Andorian, Rigellion, Vulcan, you name it, it's probably here. You think you can fly it?" He hit a remote, and the housing dome slid back. Chekov had the sensation of being in a delicate egg which was buffeted about. The winds threw dust everywhere, making the visibility hazy.

"I'm sure we could, if we had some directions." Sulu was studying the consule, and Chekov was fingering each area lightly, committing to memory the strange layout.

"I don't know how to fly this myself, but-" he broke off as two pairs of eyes whipped around and burned through him. "But I do know where we need to go, and how to get there," he added hastily.

Chekov settled in his seat, calming himself. The thought of his uncles' letter made him grin. You are Russian. And Russians did not fail.

Sulu was putting on a headset. Chekov grabbed his from under the seat. Putting them on, he adjusted the microphone. "Sulu, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. You see the starter anywhere?"

Rankest's voice reverberated in their headsets loudly, making Chekov wince. He had not bothered to adjust the mouthpiece of his set."She starts by pushing the ignition button. Then, ease her into the air, and ride the air currents."

Chekov rolled his eyes. "Vind currents. Right. Do ve flap our vings too?" Rankest seemed a nice fellow, but he did not seem to understand that they were a bit out of their depth.

Sulu pushed the ignition button, and the craft roared to life like a beast, groaning and heaving. Sulu took the steering yoke which were as Chekov flipped the toggles labeled, "take off" and the thrust "lift". With lurches and vibrations, Sulu rose the Rachel Marie rose into the air unsteadily, buffeted by the currents. Dust inside the cockpit was unsettled, adding to the distractions.

"When you get up to 450 meters, switch to going forward,"Rankest informed them.

Chekov, who was watching the altitude gauge, changed their engine pattern from propelling them upward to forward and hit thrusters forward.

He heard Sulu's voice in his ear. "Ready to go?"

"Not quite yet. Rankest, vhat is our heading?"

"Hm? Oh, um, northeast by east, 0.24 east." Scanning the controls, Chekov saw key board with the faded labels of the directions and a number pad. Punching in "northeast", "east", and then the decimal, Chekov pressed "Enter" and prayed that it would work. The Rachel Marie vocally protested this new task, and there was one split second of terror when she went quiet. But the panel blinked "Processed."

A glowing green web blossomed across the screen, showing the air currents and a compass based on the coordinates. Sulu's face was grim with concentration as he hauled the ship to remain riding the rough current. Chekov was looking ahead, and pinpointing the next current. He indicated it to Sulu, who nodded and turned the bulky Rachel Marie into the next airstream.

Time melted away. The world shrank to just Chekov and Sulu, trying to keep the protesting and old hulk in the air and on the currents.

Rankest's voice broke the spell. "We're nearing the city. Follow the landing signals, and lower down when they turn red."

As they lowered their altitude, they followed the yellow lights, which were all converging to one spot. The hub of these lights was a circle of red. Sulu flew them into the center of it, and Chekov had the thrusters lower them to the ground.

Suddenly they felt a huge jerk and the controls were suddenly inoperative. Sulu frantically tried to regain control, and Chekov hit the up thrusters.

"Whoa! Easy! It's just the tractor beam that lowers us down into the city. We had so many people crash when they tried to enter, we decided it was better automated." Rankest explained this in a light manner.

The ground opened up under the Rachel Marie, and they were lowered into the ground. The hatch closed above them, and their eyes had to adjust to the near-darkness. Chekov let out a sound of amazement. They were in a huge cavern, which had a marked landing pad. Beyond that, there was...a city. A lattice of canyons, differing in size and depth from which lights could be seen shining through openings.

The Rachel Marie landed heavily, the jar drawing attention back to the cockpit. Rankest opened the hatch and a gust of air blew in, exciting the dust and made Sulu sneeze. Taking off the headsets, Chekov wiped the sweat and dust off his face. As he exited behind Sulu, he heard the captain before he saw him.

"Mr Rankest, are all your vehicles this... ancient?"

Rankest's cheery voice answered, "No, the Rachel Marie is one of a kind. Our smaller topside vehicles are a little more used, and we keep our mining equipment in peak condition."

As soon as they were gathered together, Rankest led them through the city, which was located in the widest canyon, about 700 meters wide. Chekov couldn't help but crane his neck to look around. The ceiling of the cavern was so high it was lost in the darkness. The houses were carved into the walls of the canyons. The path they were on twisted into a particularly narrow canyon, barely 5 meters wide. The homes that lined this canyon had no doors, and the Enterprise crew saw through the doors and windows children and adults going about their daily lives.

Something caught Chekov's attention, though. Outside some of the houses, and inside the other's, were animals. In fact, there was at least one in each home. They were covered in thick black or brown fur, had stubby tails, and were the size of a medium-sized dog. Their similarities ended there. Their feet were spaded, with flat claws. They had large, deep eyes, meant for darkness. They had long snouts and small ears. They were the strangest creatures Chekov had ever seen. One, a smallish black one, got up from the doorway where it had been sleeping. It ambled up and began to follow them.

The thin security man, who had been bringing up the rear, gave a yelp, and trained his phaser on the creature. Faster than any eye could follow, Rankest sped from the front of the line to the back, and ripped the phaser from his grip. His normally cheery face was hard and flinty.

"Do not," he said, slowly and deliberately, "Ever, ever harm one of our delvers." Then he turned toward the creature and stroked it. "Are you alright?"

I'm fine. Who are they and why is that man so angry? 

Chekov gasped in surprise. "They speak?" The delver trained it's gaze onto him.

He speaks? the delver asked Rankest, in a politely interested tone.

Rankest stared at Chekov in astonishment, and his eyes flashed. Chekov took an unconscious step back. "Mr Chekov," he said in a too-loud voice, "your questions will be answered in a short time. Let's continue." And with the delver in his arms, he led them again, with a much faster pace.

By the time they reached the city center, which was in the largest canyon, Rankest had them at a fast jog. Stopping abruptly in front of one of the only independent buildings, he gave a quick "wait here," and darted inside. They had barely time to catch their breath when, like a jack-in-the-box, Rankest popped out of the door and said, "Come in," before disappearing again.

Callahan opened the door cautiously, and they filed into the dim room, lit only by small, multicolored lights set in alcoves. Chekov was tensed, and his hand wandered to his phaser. They were in a conference room, with one long table surrounded by chairs, with one old holoprojector. It was Spartan in all accounts, except for glass cases lining the walls. A dozen or so of these chairs were occupied by men, whose appearances were as undecorated as the room. The man seated at the head of the table rose.

"Welcome, crew of the Enterprise. I am Jorrel. Please be seated."

Kirk sat down at the other end of the table, and the rest filled in. Chekov took a seat between Rankest and the female security guard. Kirk took control of the situation.

"You asked us to come here because of secrecy. Please explain your reasons for this."

Jorrel paced to one of the cases, and stared at it. Then, turning about to face the table, said finally,

"Are you aware of what this planet means to the Federation?"

"Other than the fact that Serenoa is a mining colony, not really, no."

Jorrel turned his penetrating gaze upon him.

"This colony was founded by miners. And while there was a wealth of ores, metals, and minerals, they found something, here inside this planet, found no where else." He took a light from it's alcove and removed the shade. Chekov stared in amazement. In his hand, Jorrel held a rough cut frosted crystal, and from within it shone a golden light. This perpetual inner light seemed alive, with small particles dancing along the facets. Looking at the faces around him, he saw that Callahan alone was unimpressed. Sulu's mouth was slightly open in astonishment.

"Now watch." As Jorrel gave this command, his eyes stared intensely at the jewel, whose light suddenly flared to an almost unbearable brilliance. They raised their hands to shield their eyes. Just as quick as the light increased, it diminished to it's former glow. Jorrel carefully replaced it in its alcove.

"What you just saw was a Serenoan sun gem. They are like mood rings. Their light will change according to your mental concentration- the more intensely focused your mind is, the brighter it gets. They are commonly used for lighting, but we also sell them for high prices to wealthy doctors, as they claim they have calming effects on patients. They are extremely valuable."

Kirk gently interrupted. "This is very captivating, but could you tell us the reason that you called us?"

"I am coming to that, Kirk. About half a year ago, some of our scientists discovered that these gems, which have amazing potential energy, could be substituted for dithilium crystals, and could, theoretically, achieve warp 15." There was a sharp intake of breath at that statement. Warp 10 was theoretical, but warp 15?

"Not two months after we shared this information with Star Fleet, murders started." This statement dropped like a winter's frost inside the room, sucking out any of the warmth that had been there before. Jorrel's deep voice took on a tight tone.

"First, delvers went missing, only to be found, dead. While this caused considerable distress, we believed we could handle the situation. Then," he stopped, as if to muster the power to utter his next words. "We found miners killed." Four faces flickered from the holoprojetor. Three men, one woman. "You understand, we have been here for five generations, and never found any other animal life other then the delvers, and some reptiles on the surface. There has never been any unnatural deaths until this time."

"How many have died?" Kirk asked.

"Four miners, nine delvers." The grief made Jorrel's voice rough, and Chekov felt a warm surge of sympathy and affinity for the powerful man. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one before their time.

Kirk, too, looked at this man with understanding. He had lost crew, good men and women, since his ship first embarked. Each one was precious, unique, and somewhere, there was a person who treasured them. He had written too many letters to parents, spouses, children, giving them words of comfort that he knew would not heal their hurt. There was one thing that he was missing; he could feel it. The grief was not just for the miners, these animals were important to these people. Why?

"Jorrel, what are these delvers?"

Jorrels eyes strayed to the black furred creature that Rankest held. His eyes softened as he spoke.

"As I said before, miners settled this planet. We started out on the surface, trying to adjust and to dig. I will spare you the history, but the delvers came to us, and showed us the tunnels and underground spaces which we now live."

"Each miner has a delver, and they keep it for their whole life. Delvers are native here. Their noses and detect all kinds of metals, ores, you name it. Also, they're selectively telepathic. While they all communicate to each other, they choose only a select few people, and will rarely mind-speak to another human."

Rankest leaned over to Sulu as Jorrel went on about delvers. "That's why I wanted you to keep quiet. Delvers don't usually mind bond with off-worlders. I'll need to talk to Jorrel about this, so please don't mention it." Chekov nodded, dazed at the thought that some alien was in his mind.

You're in my mind, too. Chekov felt the equivalent of a mental nuzzle. It was weird feeling, and Chekov, tentatively, thought, Vhat's your name? When he was rewarded with an answer, his triumphant smile made more than one eyebrow raise.

Kirk flipped out his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Spock here."

"I need Doctor McCoy, you, and Scotty beamed down here in thirty minutes. Then Mr Sulu and Chekov are to be beamed aboard."

"Yes, Captain."

"Kirk out." he turned to the rest. "Callahan, come with me. Jorrel has the facts on the investigation. Sulu, you and Tyndall find out about the deceased miners from the computer outlet." He gave Chekov a evaluating look, like you would give a child when deciding if they're old enough to do something. Chekov bristled under the semi-condescending gaze. Early on, underestimation was one thing he'd always hated. In fact, he'd almost done himself in more than once to prove he wasn't too little, weak, stupid. The list went on. With his captain looking at him like that, it meant that, in Kirk's eyes, he was just a kid.

"Mr Chekov, take Tyndall's tricorder and go with Daniels and scan the last place a body was found." Chekov knew that McCoy would do that as soon as he came. Something to keep him busy. His face became stormy and he gave a sullen, "Aye, sair."

As Tyndall gave him the tricorder and the coordinates to the site, Chekov saw Callahan whisper something to Daniels, who gave an unpleasant sneer and nodded. Wary, Chekov eyed him as he approached. The thin whip of a man had small, mean eyes and an repulsive smell. Chekov wrinkled his nose. Had he never had a shower?

"Do you have the directions?"Even his voice was unpleasant: his words rolled in his mouth and slid his tongue. For the umpteenth time, Chekov wished everyone spoke Russian.

"All right, everyone keep in touch. Sulu, Chekov, inform Mr Scott of your position in thirty minutes." Everyone murmured assent and split to their duties. Chekov looked at the readout, and headed down a canyon in the indicated direction. Daniels walked beside him.

After a couple minutes, Daniels deliberately stumbled and fell onto Chekov, who gave a small yip and jumped backward, his heart going a mile a minute.

Daniels gave what was as close as he got to a smile and said, "Sorry, sir. Rocks, you know." He sarcastically stressed the "sir". Chekov, not trusting himself to speak, gave him a look which said he didn't buy it. They continued from the city center, with Chekov's nerves strung as tight as a balalaika. Slowly, the population dwindled, the canyons got shallower, and soon turned to a huge tunnel. Mining equipment stood, well worn but in good repair. The dull glow from unmined sun gems gave off sufficient light. Supplies and crates were scattered along the way, and the gems, less sparse as they went along, cast dark shadows.

Daniels, nervous and twitchy, was randomly aiming his phaser, as if he expected something to jump out at them. Chekov, a little more at home in the darkness, had both his phaser and tricorder out. A figure stepped from behind a crate, tugging a large container. Scanning, Chekov saw it was human. The man paused for breath, and gave a call toward the two crewmen.

"Hey, could you give a hand?"

Daniels, who had about had a heart attack, made no move to help. Giving him the tricorder and a scathing look, Chekov went to help the man. As he picked up one end, he realized how light the container was. Daniels gave a strangled yell, which was cut off in mid-shout. Chekov spun around, and saw another miner over Daniels. He spun back toward the miner near him, and was rewarded with a stunning blow to the neck, followed by a spray of some mist on his face. As his vision blurred and dimmed, he saw the two miners load Daniels into the crate. As they came for him, he could have sworn he saw the skin on one of them change before the darkness took him.

Please review! They are water to the parched writing mind! (Feel free to guess what's going to happen...)


	6. Chapter 6

The Furnace

Once again, I apologize for the delay. Worked extra hard to finish this as a Christmas surprise to you all. Surprise!

Disclaimer- I own no one. You should know that by now.

Review replies:

The Almighty Panamint- you're a great reviewer! Like those telepathic dog-things, huh?

60's Bat(and Trek)-Fan- I'm updating! I'm updating!

StromyRose- Gotta love the wierdness. Did I say anything about quitting? Hmmm? Besides, I would NEVER make Chekov unhappy! You, well... :)

Aly L- I had a great time! And here's your chapter, fresh from the oven!

slimirof4077 thanks for the compliment! But be careful, it might go to my head!

A/N: I said, "I'll be leaving on Thanksgiving vacation soon, and probably will not be posting til December. But be rest assured that I'll continue! Please bear with me!" So, what do you all do? Please update soon! Please update! Sheesh... Just joking! Love you all!

Kirk checked the time. Chekov and Daniels were overdue by five minutes. Usually wet-behind- the-ears officers were punctual, obsessively so. He looked around impatiently, muttering something about lack of discipline. Sulu's attention was directed wholly at a sun gem on the wall of a building, which was gradually flickering brighter and brighter. Obviously, the lieutenant was doing some in-field experiment, one that he seemed to be enjoying, judging by the delighted smile on his face. A gold-shirted figure approached, and Kirk gave the ensign a hard look.

"Reason for being late, Mr. Chekov?"

"Daniels took too long, so I came back by myself, sir."

Stupidity, Kirk thought wearily, could kill a man. "Mr Chekov, if you do something like that again, I'll have you confined to quarters. Now go over by Mr Sulu and prepare to beam up."

"Yes sir."

Flipping open his communicator, he contacted his transporter chief. "Kyle, stand by to beam up Sulu and Mr Chekov. Have Mr Spock, Scott, and McCoy beam down." He turned to Sulu and Chekov.

"Ready?"

Sulu nodded. "Ready, sir."

"Energize."

As the two figures faded and three others took their place, something tickled at the back of Kirk's mind. Was it his imagination, or had Chekov been speaking without his heavy Russian accent? The thought was pushed to the back of his mind as his senior officers approached him. After filling them in on the current situation, he issued his orders.

"Spock, Scotty, go and verify the scientists' claims about these gems. McCoy, the body from the last murder is not yet interred. Go and have a full autopsy scan done. Call me when you have findings. Report in in an hour."

He turned to the two security guards. "Tyndall, go with Dr. McCoy. Callahan, you're with me. Try calling up Daniels."

Scotty spoke up hesitantly. "Captain, do'ye think that there's some connection 'tween these gems and th' murders?"

"I don't know, but I gave a feeling this isn't going to end nicely. If these gems truly have the potential that the Serenoan scientists say they do, they'll revolutionize space travel."

"But sir, we don't' have anythin' that could withstand that speed."

"Well, I'm sure that that won't stop the Klingons or Romulans from trying to get it."

The first sensation was heat. The second was sharp, shooting pain. Chekov opened his eyes, then closed them again. There was no difference. The darkness was absolute. Without his eyes, he turned to his other senses. He was tied to a chair, at his wrists, biceps, chest, waist, knees, and ankles. His head was throbbing, either from the anaesthetic agent or the heat. God, he hated the heat. Willing himself to focus, he again studied his surroundings. The air was steamy and smelled of hot earth.

He could hear nothing. No, there was a sound. The sound of a blow, then a exclamation of pain. Three seconds of silence. Then again. And again. How long it went on, Chekov didn't know, but he guessed half an hour. The howls of pain escalated, along with his dread, til they were screams. Then there was silence, except for his own heavy breathing.

Then, so softly, he heard footsteps. Slow, deliberate, and purposeful, and they were getting closer. Slowly, Chekov tensed. He couldn't help but remember the sound of his father's boots, ominous and heavy, as they came down the hall or thumped up the stairs. The heat was oppressive, and his shirt was soaked with sweat.

Sun-bright light blinded him. Eyes clamped shut and watering, he waited for the brightness to become tolerable. Slowly, blinking, he opened his eyes. He was in a small bare room, by the looks of it naturally developed. There was one exit, a tunnel, which was not filled with the piercing light. After quickly becoming familiar with his surroundings, he turned his attention to the occupants of the room.

There, standing before him, was a somewhat familiar figure. The eyebrows and ears, yes, those he recognized. But the rest was foreign. The raw hostility, the assertive stance, were totally unlike the calm, controlled person he likened to the physical features. Another form, lingering in the mouth of the tunnel, was unrecognizable in the shadows.

"Ensign Chekov, you will save yourself pain and suffering by cooperating. The security clearance codes to the Enterprise. Give them to me." The Romulan paused. "Your death will be painless if you comply."

"How.." His voice was raspy, and his lips were bleeding, Chekov noted ruefully. He tried again. "How do you-" he was cut off by a slap that knocked the chair back on to two legs. His already throbbing head felt ready to explode.

"You are not to question. After being stuck in his mudhole for three months, I intend to get those codes."

He pulled a disk off his belt and pressed it into the skin below Chekov's eye. The touch of the metal became liquid fire, frying every nerve ending in his body. The only sound was the low buzz of the disk and the cries of its recipient.

Sulu turned to Chekov as they rematerialized.

"Does the Academy still teach basic landing safety? Why did you come back by yourself?"

The helmsman's concern made his voice sharper than intended, but Chekov just shrugged.

"I needed to come back."

"But you're not supposed to split from your group. They have a killer down there."

Chekov shrugged again, and without another word, he turned and walked off. Sulu was surprised at him. From what he'd seen of him before, Chekov was always trying to be at his best, striving for approval. He jogged up to him.

"Hey, you want to go to the gym?"

"No. I just want to go to my room. I wish to read." Chekov's voice was polite, but cold and very unfriendly.

Even further taken aback, Sulu nodded. "Bye, then."

He watched til Chekov turned a corner. Then he went his own way, troubled and a little hurt.

Uhura whistled as she strode down the hall on her way to Rec. She caught sight of Chekov. "Hey," she said by way of greeting. He looked up at her.

"Miss Uhura."

" I was thinking of doing some games. Would you care to join me?" She motioned to the stack of disks she held. "They're great. I've got some from-"

"No, I don't." And he went on his way, without a goodbye. Uhura stared at his retreating from. Well, if that wasn't the most rudeness she'd seen from him! Feeling very snubbed, she went on her way, her pleasant mood dampened.

Kirk's communicator beeped. Freeing one hand from the three padds he was trying to look over, he passed them to Callahan. Then he flipped it open.

"Kirk here."

"Jim? I just finished examining the body. It's ripped apart, almost passed recognition. No foreign substances on the body except for a small bit of unidentified tissue under three of the fingernails. The miner must have been physically attacked, and tried to defend herself. Cause of death was an strike to the neck that almost decapitated. It snapped the neck and ripped up all the main blood vessels. Most of the mutilation was done after death."

Kirk grimaced. "What was the instrument used?" There was a hesitant pause.

"Jim...I think it was done by teeth. The marks indicate a large mouth with small, sharp teeth. The blow to the neck was done with a knife or claw."

"Report this to Jorrel. Spock and Scotty will be calling in soon. Kirk out."

He looked over the paperwork. All the information on the miners were unrelated, and just a dead end. The only thing they had in common was the fact that they were dead. He was not following up on the delvers. He paused to think what the motive for the deaths were. He came up blank. Callahan coughed, bringing him back from his speculation.

"Sir, the other teams are reporting in." Kirk took his communicator and adjusted it so it was a three way line.

"Spock here. We examined the sun gems and found the local scientists findings factual. I would like to point out that ensign Daniels has not reported in in 1.53 hours, and has not answered hails."

"McCoy. I think we should find that boy."

"Mmm, yes. We are all to meet in fifteen minutes where you beamed down. From there, we'll go to the last site where a body was found, and there begin investigating the murder and the disappearanceof the ensign. Kirk out."

Caligula spat on his unconscious prisoner. His neural disrupter had died, but not before his prisoner had lost his consciousness. When the psycho-tricorder had shown the other one had no usefulness, he had him beat. That in itself had proven rather mollifying. The perpetual blubbering the human had displayed was sickening. It only showed how humans were such an inferior race. As the screams had reached a climax, he finally had him killed.

This one was different. His position, showed through the scan, was one of some importance, therefore useful. Replacing him was quickly done. And even after a prolonged taste of the neural disrupter, he had managed to keep his information. Now, without the aid of his torture device, he was left to use more imaginative means. And he was a _very_ creative Romulan.

Considered early on as a wonderful intelligence officer, he had been one of the best in the Empire. Unfortunately, the means which he achieved his ends were brought to light by a unearthed scandal. After many official reprimands for brutality, he had been shunted from one obscure post to another. If he could somehow bring this knowledge of these rocks back, along with the most famed starship in the universe, he could retire, and be accepted once again.

Unfortunately, he could do neither without the security codes to the Enterprise. He needed to wring this everything he could out of this human. His only assets were his anonymousness, his wit and his two aces in the hole. And of course this little human.

But Caligula had learned much over the years, and the greatest lesson he had learned was this: never put all your ale in one bottle.

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